


Wayland 1346

by wheel_pen



Series: Immortals [4]
Category: Lie to Me (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-15 17:28:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3455669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A terrible plague is coming, and the Immortals decide to round up their people and retreat to the safety of the City of Doors.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wayland 1346

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. The Immortals are powerful Earth beings who have children with mortals and are supposed to take care of them. The different clans are inspired by various movies and TV shows.  
> 2\. The bad words are censored; that’s just how I do things.  
> 3\. I own nothing, and I appreciate the chance to play in these universes.

_Almeria, Spain, 1346_

The ringing of the bell outside the main gate signaled that their visitor had arrived at last. The sun had just set behind the hills to the west and the Wayland family was sitting down to eat dinner in the open-air courtyard, surrounded by flickering candles and squealing children. Isolda reported from the gate that the man had been let in and his horse taken care of. A moment later the gate to the house courtyard was opened and Cal rose to greet their visitor.

“Cousin!” They embraced heartily. Communications being what they were these days, the far-flung members of this special family didn’t get to see each other very often. The last time he’d seen Lio was, oh, maybe a hundred years ago. Cal stepped back and looked over the man’s ostentatious white leather suit of clothes. “Nice outfit,” he commented dryly. “Must be easy to keep clean. Come, have some food and wine!”

Lio paid his respects to the other members of the family as tradition dictated, embracing Eli and kissing the hands of Gillian and Ria. “As beautiful as ever, my lady,” he told Gillian in a courtly manner. “Your sister sends you greetings as well.” Gillian nodded and forced a polite smile onto her face. It was no secret that Lio Nightbird made most people uncomfortable--that was how he liked it.

“Come on, sit down,” Cal urged again. “Have something to eat. This is our famous Almeria braised goat’s meat—you’re not gonna find _this_ in Paris.”

“Thank you very much,” Lio replied. “It _is_ quite delicious. Did you receive my letter?”

“Yes, but I don’t know why you bothered sending it,” Cal poked, “if you’re only going to write vague prophecies of doom.”

“It is better not to be too specific in writing,” Lio countered, “as one never knows who might be reading it. The Church, for example, is very powerful in France, and very cautious as well.”

“Oh, of course, the Church is like that everywhere,” Cal agreed dismissively. “In the north as well. But the Moors still rule here in Granada, and they’re far more tolerant and sophisticated. They could rule all of Europe one of these days.”

“I’m afraid you’ve not been gifted with the future sight, cousin,” Lio countered delicately, and Cal snorted, unoffended. “But _I_ have. And there is a great darkness coming that will decimate the population and change the whole foundation of European society. Are those quinces?”

“Er, yes, help yourself,” Cal offered after a moment. Lio always did know how to kill an appetite. “What are we talking about here? Famine? War?”

“A different horseman rides this time,” Lio replied wryly, biting into the fruit. “Pestilence.”

“This age is rife with disease,” Gillian commented, reflexively wiping her hands on a napkin. “Though the Muslim doctors are the most educated in Europe.”

“This disease is different,” Lio promised her. “It will spare no one, rich or poor, loved or unloved. It will spread rapidly and kill quickly, but not painlessly. Corpses will be piled in the streets, because there will be no one left alive to bury them. This goat _is_ delicious—what’s your secret?”

Cal blinked at him. “Um, sea salt rub. There’s some kind of… plague coming?”

“They will call it the Black Death,” Lio predicted. “It will strike heavily in the cities, where the most people are gathered under the worst conditions. But it will spread to the countryside as well and destroy the peasantry. Perhaps a hint of rosemary as well?”

“We can protect our people from disease,” Gillian insisted, pulling one small child onto her lap for her own comfort. Cal had sent the others away from the table when Lio got around to the ‘corpses’ part.

“You cannot protect them all,” Lio remarked simply, and Gillian’s jaw tightened as she thought of the precious child they had lost years ago, who had sickened so quickly he was dead before they could get to him. “This plague will spread too fast. And to keep everyone here, behind these walls, would invite suspicion.”

“Suspicion should be a horseman,” Cal remarked quietly, almost unaware that he had spoken aloud. “There have been some burnings up north. The Christian monarchs are getting more aggressive, squeezing the Muslims further and further south. In a few years it may be dangerous to seem different here. Unless the Moors find a strong leader and push back.”

“Perhaps you have a bit of future sight after all,” Lio replied, with a ghost of a smile.

“Well you can never go wrong predicting things are going to be _bad_ , can you?” Cal shot back, draining his goblet of wine. The juicy spark seemed to have left it. “Here, have an orange. Can’t get those in Paris, either.”

“I think we need some more hard _facts_ here,” Ria put in. Technically she was a junior member of the family and not really supposed to speak out of turn, but Cal didn’t keep things too formal. “When will this plague be coming? How will it get here? How can we stop it?”

Lio gave her a long look, his sky-blue eyes seeming to cut right through her. For a moment Cal thought he was offended and wasn’t going to answer. Then he replied, “The plague will come by ship, carried by rats. You will start to hear of deaths to the east in a month or so. And there is nothing you can do to prevent it. Nothing that goes against our code.”

“I hope you’ve also brought an idea with you,” Cal told him, no longer quite so delighted with the visit. He remembered now why he’d avoided Nightbird for a century.

“I have,” Lio assured him. “Pomegranate?”

“Have all the bloody fruit you want,” Cal snapped. Gillian hugged the child on her lap closer, even as he squirmed for freedom. “Haven’t you got any fruit in Paris?”

“Not really, no.”

“What’s the idea?” Eli finally prompted, unable to stand it anymore.

“I have been in contact with some of the others near me,” Lio began, carefully slicing into his fruit. “Starkmoon in Hamburg, Sunroad in London, Startrail in Naples—“

“And?” Cal prompted sharply.

“The City of Doors.” There was utter silence in the courtyard. The child on Gillian’s lap squealed and she finally set him free to join his siblings elsewhere in the house. Cal leaned back on the bench he sat on and stared off into the middle distance. “It is the only way,” Lio added gently.

“I do not like the idea of abandoning our people when they need us the most,” Cal said slowly, through gritted teeth.

“We will take our people with us,” Lio assured him, in a slightly confused tone.

“I mean, _our people_!” Cal shouted. He pounded his fist on the table so hard a crack appeared in the wood. Everyone jumped.

“We cannot be responsible for all of humanity,” Lio countered mildly. “Not anymore.”

“That is _exactly_ who we are responsible for.”

Lio sighed and turned away; this argument was an old one and never ended well. “Save as many as you can,” he finally suggested. “The City of Doors will not be too crowded.”

“You sound very certain about all this,” Cal said tersely. “Has there been a meeting?”

“We would not call a council without you, cousin,” Lio remarked, his tone cooler now. “You may stay if you wish. But the journey will be harder the longer you wait.”

Gillian spoke, unexpectedly. “Where is the City of Doors?” She didn’t want to lose anyone else.

“Chamonix,” Lio revealed. “In Savoy.”

“Mont Blanc?” Cal guessed, and Lio nodded.

“Goldenshield is no doubt there already and preparing it,” he added. “You will have a long journey, but not the longest. My messengers may not even have reached some families yet. Windfield in Stockholm, Pathfinder in Iceland, Skywalker in Moscow, Bonebright in Bucharest—“

“Well, they needed to get out of Wallachia anyway, the stories from there are getting atrocious,” Cal remarked flippantly, but there was a weariness in his tone. Isolda appeared at his side at his summons. “Make preparations to leave. Everything must be packed. And everyone must be gathered up. Prepare letters for my colleagues at the academies.”

“You cannot reveal—“ Lio began to protest.

“I will reveal what I please,” Cal cut in, shutting him down. “These are my people, and I will try to convince as many of them to join me as possible.” Lio conceded the point, or rather, accepted that he couldn’t change Cal’s mind.

“We’ll need to hire ships,” Eli mused, thinking ahead. “We could sail to Genoa, perhaps—“ He stopped when he saw Cal and Lio gazing at him.

“No ships,” Cal told him, while Lio gestured his agreement in the background. “If the plague comes on a ship no ship is safe. We go over land.”

“Oh,” Eli replied, finally understanding. He started to rise. “Then we _do_ have much to prepare. If you’ll excuse me?”

“Yes, go,” Cal dismissed, including all of them. The others quickly left the table, leaving him alone with Lio. “You sure know how to clear a room, don’t you?”

Lio gave a quick, dry smile. Then he stood also. “I must be on my way,” he announced.

Cal’s eyebrows shot up. “Already?” he asked, jumping to his feet.

“I make for Corunna,” he replied, signaling for his horse. “Sunroad has promised to follow my messengers to Stockholm and Moscow, but I am to go north to Iceland.”

“Good luck convincing any of those Northmen to leave their homes,” Cal snorted.

Lio shrugged. “We must try. I will see you in the City of Doors.”

“Yes,” Cal agreed heavily.

Lio placed a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t despair too much, cousin,” he advised. “Sunroad has an idea about reintroducing ancient knowledge to the people of Europe after the plague. I think it will lead to a… rebirth of art and education. We will see humanity flower again.”

Cal nodded, but at this point—the _bad_ predictions were easier to believe.

**

From his vantage point on the hillside, Cal had clear views of Savoy, the Milanese territory, and perhaps a bit of the Swiss Confederation. Spain had been left far behind them as they trekked northeast, avoiding the easier path of the coast due to Nightbird’s warning about the plague coming from ships. Personally Cal would’ve taken the chance for a quicker pace, but Gillian wouldn’t let him. Now, finally, they were within just a day or two of their final destination.

Cal turned to look back the way he had come and saw the line of followers stretched out like a trail of insects, ponderously making its way across the rocky path in the valley not far below. There were wagons of every description, livestock, people on horseback, people walking. It was not a swift progression, by any means, but Cal had managed to be very patient with them, mostly because he felt so bad about leaving in the first place. Now that they were _so close_ to their goal, however, he began to wish they would pick up the pace—he could easily ride to Chamonix himself before dark.

Cal turned away from the staggering line below him, leaving the others to keep order, and peered again at the dark trail approaching them from the north. From a distance the formation seemed somewhat similar to his own; the two groups were currently on course to meet rather soon.

“Isolda,” he summoned, and the nymph appeared dutifully beside him. “Find out who that is.” The young woman vanished and appeared again just a moment later.

“It’s Lord Starkmoon and his people,” she reported, which was as Cal had suspected.

“Ask him to meet me at that boulder there,” Cal instructed her, already turning his horse in that direction. He rode ahead of the column easily, telling himself that he was just scouting the path for them, and not trying to do _anything_ to move further along. A dark shape also broke from the front of the other column, aiming for the boulder.

“Tony,” Cal greeted when the other man was in earshot. “Nice suit. Iron, huh? Were you planning to joust your way across Europe?”

Tony Starkmoon smirked at his cousin. “I thought it was pigs the Jews and Moors disliked,” he quipped cheerfully, “but you appear to have slaughtered a whole herd of cows for those clothes.”

Cal chuckled and the two men clasped hands from their horses. At least this excursion would let him catch up with some family members. “I would have thought you would’ve beaten us to the City long ago,” he commented curiously.

Tony shrugged, unconcerned. “I’m disorganized, what can I say?” He sat up straighter for a better view of Cal’s approaching procession. “Are all those people _yours_? I thought you believed in restraint.”

“I _do_ ,” Cal stressed. Quality over quantity. “But we picked up a few extra people along the way.” Everyone he could convince to follow them, in fact, from the Moorish physicians at the academy to the burdensome village orphans he had traded for silver all across Spain and France. There were probably a few unsavory characters in the group, but he was certain the City of Doors could handle it.

“No point in asking if you believe Nightbird’s apocalyptic plague stories,” Tony guessed dryly, though he was clearly asking exactly that.

“Has any good ever come of ignoring Nightbird?” Cal shot back. When you had a prophet in your midst it was foolish to ignore his prophecies just because you found them inconvenient. “Besides, there _have_ been rumors, from the east…”

“ _Very_ east, farther away than Bucharest,” Tony reminded him, but he took the point. “Where will you make camp tonight?”

“There’s a pond and a field just outside Chamonix,” Cal told him. “I’m hoping we can make it there before it grows too dark, and then enter the City in the morning.” He turned to watch the first of his people approaching along the dirt path, Gillian on her white mare followed by a wagonload of children and their weary guardians. “Starkmoon’s people will join us,” he called to her. “Make sure they all merge properly.”

“Hey, Lady Gillian, lookin’ good!” Tony shouted by way of greeting, and Gillian rolled her eyes as she continued past. She did give him a slight smirk, though. “Yeah, she likes me,” Tony decided.

Cal snorted. “And how is _your_ family?” he asked deliberately, stretching to look over the trail of people meandering past.

“Oh, _fine_ ,” Starkmoon replied off-hand. “They’ll be along soon, I expect. Say, those Moorish ladies are quite fetching,” he commented with interest as one went by. “Would you mind terribly if I—“

“They’re not _mine_ ,” Cal reminded him. “They’re free to associate with whomever they wish. But do me a favor and hold off until we’re in the City, alright?” he warned. “I don’t want any of them scared off when we’re so close.” Tony took the jibe well, which was the nice thing about Tony. Cal also noticed that despite his casual attitude, he kept a close watch on his people and the surroundings. “Have you had any trouble on the way here?” Cal asked him.

“Oh, no, not really,” Tony shrugged, which Cal took to mean _yes_. “No more than a group like this usually attracts. Say, I hope this City of Doors thing is worth it,” he added, changing the subject. They both spurred their horses into a slow walk with the crowd. “I had a lucrative theatre franchise going back in Hamburg. We were expanding into markets all across the province.”

“What’s theatre?” Cal asked quizzically.

“For the love of—“ Tony exclaimed, aghast at the lack of culture on display. “You know, actors, costumes, sets, morality plays, low comedy?”

“Oh,” Cal recalled. “Like with puppets, huh?”

Tony rolled his eyes dramatically. “Honestly… _No_ , like with _real_ people, interpreting the dramas of the ancient world, the famous historical adventures of kings and heroes—“

“And there’s money in that?” Cal wondered.

“Of course! There’s always money in leisure time activities, even in times like these,” Tony insisted as they plodded along. “People will cut back on _food_ before they’ll curtail the one hour a week they actually feel _good_. And even better if you can combine the two—“ He looked at Cal’s uncomprehending expression and sighed. “Right. You guys aren’t much for the business sense, are you?”

“Nope,” Cal admitted cheerfully. “More art and intellectual achievement.”

“Hmm, we should go into business together sometime,” Tony speculated. “You could make the art, and I’ll sell it.”

“What a weird concept,” Cal decided.

**

“So this is the entrance.”

“Yes.”

“Right here. We’re actually _at_ it.”

“That’s right.”

“No further to go.”

“Well, we have to go _through_ it, into the City.”

“It’s a solid wall of rock!” Tony exclaimed, unable to contain himself any longer. “It’s the base of a mountain!”

“Well what did you expect?” Cal asked him, a bit peeved. “A huge banner saying, ‘Mythical city this way’? It’s _hidden_. It’s _magic_.” He pressed his palm against the flat stone. “You can feel that it’s warmer here…”

Tony reached over and felt the mildly warm rock as well but remained unimpressed. “What’s so fantastic about the City of Doors, anyway?” he wanted to know.

“Oh, I guess you weren’t around the last time we used it,” Cal realized. “It’s been… a thousand years ago now. Almost.”

“Nope, before my time,” Tony agreed flippantly. They both paused a moment to look back down at the camp they’d made the night before, which was being roused and organized in the pale light of sunrise.

“We were mostly living in Italy and Macedonia then,” Cal recalled slowly, “and we were told that the so-called barbarians from the north were going to swoop down and crush what little civilization remained around us.”

“Nightbird?” Tony guessed.

“Bonebright, actually,” Cal corrected. They at least had _slightly_ more of a sense of humor than Nightbird, even if they were just as theatrical. “The City was in Sicily then—we thought it would be easier for everyone to reach than the Alps. Look, that old fellow should be closer to the front,” he told a nymph at his side. “Put him in a wagon or something.” She hurried to make sure his bidding was done—the ill and infirm were to be the first to enter the City, which would heal them of their maladies. “Anyway, we all packed up and hid out for a century or so. Then we stuck our heads out and realized humanity was in for a long, slow trudge upwards and they needed our help. So we came out and dealt with it.” His tone clearly indicated which action _he_ had championed, then _and_ now.

“I assume there’s magically enough food and shelter for everyone, the healing powers, crime prevention, that kind of thing,” Tony suggested.

“Oh, of course.”

“City of Doors is just kind of… prosaic, though,” he judged. “It’s not very snappy or intriguing. You need a name like the City of Gold or the… the City of the Night Temptress to really draw the crowds.”

“City of the Night Temptress?” Cal repeated, appalled. “We’re certainly not trying to _draw crowds_. It just refers to the fact that, like in our homes, we can open doorways to other parts of the world in the City.”

Tony blinked at him. “Then what did we walk all this way for?!” he demanded. “I could’ve opened a freakin’ doorway at home—“

“Only nymphs can come and go through these doors,” Cal corrected, clearly thinking it should have been obvious that there were restrictions. “Humans can’t leave the City at all once they’re inside it; it’s quite difficult even for one of _us_ to leave. Until we all decide to break our isolation, of course.”

“Stuck in one city with all my relatives for who knows how many decades,” Tony muttered with displeasure. “Wow, this deal is getting better and better all the time. Is Palmfire gonna be there? He knows how to party, at least. But thank goodness the nymphs can still get out to go shopping, huh?” he added in a lighter tone, turning to the young woman who sat dejectedly on a boulder near them. She was a Dawnheart, left behind outside the City to guide others to it, and she was feeling the absence of her family keenly. She gave Starkmoon a wan smile and went back to picking at her toenails. She would go through the portal once it was opened and Wayland would leave one of _his_ nymphs behind to guide the next group.

“It isn’t a perfect solution,” Cal understated flatly. He had made his opinion on the subject clear and he didn’t want to belabor it. Instead he just sighed. “But sometimes it’s necessary, to preserve our human families against catastrophe,” he conceded. “And others will be more uncomfortable than us—the nomads who are used to wandering, the sailors, the shepherds and farmers. Those of us who prefer cities anyway will have the advantage.”

Tony snorted as if he didn’t think that was such a great advantage. “Well, maybe I can refine my theatre business plan,” he decided, trying to look on the bright side. “It sounds like I’ll have a captive audience.”

Isolda appeared at Cal’s side again. “Shall we begin the procession, my lord?”

He stared down at the camp again—half appeared to be utter chaos, the other half still asleep. But slowly, a line of wagons was being formed to one side. “Yes, let’s get started,” he agreed. “Gillian leads. Five of you go through with her to help her organize things in the City, the rest stay out here to move this crowd. Remember that once someone passes through the gate they can’t come back out.” Isolda nodded and vanished again.

“Say, how many nymphs do you have?” Tony asked curiously. Out of deference to Wayland’s greater age—and organizational skills—Tony had decided his people could just go along with Cal’s, significantly reducing his own duties as well.

“Oh, about twenty-five or thirty,” Cal shrugged without interest. “Will Lady Gwyn be riding in after Gillian?”

“Sure, fine with me,” Tony agreed easily. “Only that many, huh?”

Cal smirked a bit. “They do proliferate if you don’t keep an eye on them,” he advised. “Keep them away from strong spirits—if they get drunk they forget themselves and next thing you know you’ll have a polliwog on your hands.” Nymphs maintained the appearance of a highly attractive young, _human_ woman; their offspring took a while to learn that trick.

“Well, it’s the theatre world,” Tony decided. “Everyone’s always celebrating each time a play finishes with no riots breaking out or vegetables being thrown. Players are a raucous lot, you know.”

“Maybe some of them would like to live with another family,” Cal suggested. “This will be your opportunity. Gillian.”

Lady Gillian rode up to them on her white mare. “Are we ready?”

“After you,” Cal said, gesturing ironically towards the rock face. “I’ll be the last one in.”

Gillian nodded and without a backwards glance at the world they were leaving behind, she rode demurely towards the mountain. As her horse’s nose reached it the rock seemed to dissolve away, cleanly and without excessive magical effects, opening an archway just the right height and width for a woman on a horse. Beyond the doorway a great city could be seen, rising up towards the blue sky like the mountain that contained it, white stone walls and towers and battlements and stairways, the flags of those who had already arrived fluttering from its peaks.

“Wow,” Tony breathed, impressed finally. Then, “What’s the real estate structure like here?”

“I’ll start making arrangements for our accommodations,” Lady Gwyn assured him, riding through the archway after Gillian.

“Location, location, location!” Tony called after her as a reminder.

The two women entered a wide plaza set before the lowest wall of the city, which seemed obviously to be for incoming traffic as it was otherwise deserted. A few people walking along the various levels of the city at this early hour stopped to watch their entrance.

Behind Lady Gwyn’s horse came the Wayland and Starkmoon nymphs who were to help their families get settled in the city. Although a few had fair or red hair, and a few were distinctly dark-skinned, most were harder to categorize—they could be Mediterranean, Turkish, Persian, Egyptian, or even of the exotic lands farther to the east. Or maybe they were a little of all that, dressed in the finest fashions of their day, sparkling with jewels they had carried all this way for their grand entrance, wafting a dozen perfumes in their wake.

Tony took a deep breath. “I _love_ nymphs,” he sighed. The ones who heard him giggled and whispered to each other as they walked through the archway.

Cal was not tempted by nymphs any longer. He preferred his ladies who were equal partners, with the fragile and complex humans for added interest. “Bring the first wagon up,” he ordered. It was driven by two young men and groaned as it approached the entrance, or maybe the sound came from its unhappy occupants who had suffered every bump and jar for miles across the countryside. “Not long now,” Cal assured them. “You’re almost there.”

“Um, it’s not going to fit,” Tony suggested, looking at the narrow doorway and the wide cart.

“O ye of little faith,” Cal mocked him, as the doorway widened to accommodate the cart and stayed open.

“Huh,” Tony remarked.

“Next wagon, let’s go!” Cal directed.

Slowly, so slowly, the people were transferred inside the City of Doors. It took all day, of course, what with two groups merged into one, and once the passenger wagons had been used up it was harder to keep people and animals contained. Dogs chased chickens across the road, small children chased the dogs, larger children chased the smaller ones, and some eager adults took the opportunity to rush the entrance. It would have widened to let them all in, but Cal didn’t want a mad scramble on his hands and spurred his horse into the crowd with Tony’s assistance.

“Stop it! Calm down! Stop shoving!” he shouted. “Everyone will get in! Get back in line!”

“Helene, have the jugglers come out and do some tricks,” Tony told one of his nymphs. “Walk up and down the line entertaining people.”

“And distribute some food,” Cal added to his own helper. “It’s nearly midday.”

After the main body of people came the wagons laden with goods—mostly luggage from the leaders and nymphs, books, clothes, jewels, musical instruments, incense blocks, fine fabrics, exotic food. In some ways such material possessions seemed frivolous, except perhaps for those representing intellectual or artistic achievement, but to the nymphs such trappings were extremely important. You couldn’t _be_ a nymph if you didn’t spend your free time admiring the latest dress styles, adorning your hair, or soaking your perfect feet in the latest concoction designed to remove wrinkles. It was just how nymphs _were_ , and if you wanted them to do all their other jobs well you needed to provide for them properly. Indeed, a few nymphs accompanied each wagon, making sure it entered the city safely.

As darkness fell there were just a few stragglers to round up who had missed the earlier calls, and the last few nymphs cleaned up the campsite to leave it ready for the next group. Cal had been studying the flags he could see through the doorway and indeed, most of the families in the north and east had not yet arrived. They had longer, harder roads; but Mont Blanc was centrally located for most of them. The Dawnheart nymph had dashed inside behind Gillian and Gwyn, and now it was Isolda who would be waiting, alone, to make sure the next family could find its way. The villagers of sleepy little Chamonix had spared a few minutes to watch the procession, but they had seen others before and it no longer held the same novelty. The strange visitors paid well for last-minute supplies, but other villagers were upset that some of their number had gone missing, no doubt lured away by the travelers. That was no concern of Cal’s; they were better off in the City anyway, it seemed.

Cal turned to Tony. “Your turn, I believe.”

Tony sighed, a sudden melancholy look on his face—it was an incongruous expression for him. “Nightbird told me that things were going to get better—some kind of ‘rebirth of art and learning’ or whatever, new economies and technology, new opportunities.” He gave Cal a look. “You think he’s right?”

Cal had no idea. “He usually is.”

“I hope so,” Tony decided, spurring his horse towards the gateway. He rode through it into the city and turned back to wait for Cal.

Cal faced Isolda, who stood beside the trail looking slightly ridiculous as she heaped extra jewelry on herself which she’d been holding back for this moment. “Isolda, I charge you with waiting here by the entrance to the City to guide the next branch of our family to it.” There wasn’t really a prescribed thing to say at this point, he just felt he ought to say _something_. He knew she would be miserable away from her family, and it could potentially be weeks until the next group came. “You can enter the City and rejoin us once the doorway has been opened again.” Isolda nodded dutifully, her pretty face solemn. “Um, you can turn invisible if you like, so the villagers don’t bother you,” Cal suggested, and Isolda vanished before his eyes.

With one last look at the rocky landscape and the little village, Cal turned towards the doorway with the gleaming white city beyond, about to take his final steps. Then he heard the voice behind him. “Please, sir, wait!” Cal looked back in the growing gloom and saw a boy hobbling towards him, leaning heavily on a crudely-made crutch. He backed his horse up from the archway and waited for the boy to reach him. He was obviously a citizen of the village, with the same distinctive homespun clothing. “Please, sir, may I come with you?” the boy asked as he neared, out of breath from his efforts. “I been watchin’ for weeks, and I ain’t much good here, but maybe I could—“

“Of course,” Cal assured him, sweeping an arm towards the doorway. “After you.”

“Thank you, thank you, sir,” the boy exclaimed, limping with painful determination beneath the archway.

Cal glanced around and didn’t see any other last-minute additions. Finally he pointed the horse towards the doorway and rode through onto the paved plaza that surrounded the city. Behind him, the mountain wall reformed, blotting out any trace of the gateway.


End file.
